Consequential conspiracies
by Grace Fury
Summary: A Sherlock one shot. Mentions of violence


**Consequential conspiracies**

John Watson blearily arose from his bed in 221B Baker Street, tired and sleep deprived. He yawned, settled in the empty feeling in his chest and made for the door. As he walked down the hallway and descended the stairs, he took in his surroundings; the olive green wallpaper was drab but he loved the dark wooden floor as he always thought it felt homely. The deep brown rug on the floor was thick and soft to the touch and the pictures on the wall gave him the creeps.

Having come down the stairs, John walked into the living room. He briefly felt a sharp pain in his chest but he did his best to ignore it as he'd had it every day since... then. He went into the kitchen, standard morning procedure, and began to make himself a cup of tea. Only when he paused while the kettle was boiling did he notice the letter on the table. He took a step toward it and noticed that it was, in fact, addressed to him. Cautiously, he picked it up and held it under the light,

_'I've seen this paper before,' _he thought, _'I don't know where though. It's good quality, I can tell that.'_

He slid his finger under the slightly open end and slit the envelope. Inside was a single side of paper, the letter was short, very short, and John couldn't believe his eyes.

_It all happened so quickly. One minute he and Sherlock were quietly creeping through the forecourt of an abandoned warehouse and the next he was waking up, tied to a chair with a throbbing pain in his skull. As he sat in the small, dark and damp room thinking, more details returned to his memory. He remembered someone, someone big, coming up behind him and hitting him on the back of the head with a very heavy object. It knocked him out immediately and he didn't have a chance to even fight back. He wondered how Sherlock was doing, bile slowly rising in his throat at the thought of Sherlock being hurt or even worse... dead. _

_ As if answering his thoughts, a voice was amplified over a tannoy system into his holding room. John's blood ran cold and he shivered; he knew that voice anywhere, the voice belonging to the reptilian, cold, brutal and sadistic Jim Moriarty. _

_'Hello boys! Just to let you know that you are next door to each other and the other one is still alive. If you were to talk you could hear everything the other said. Now, you can talk as much as you'd like but if either of you even utters a word of encouragement, consolation or declares their state of wellbeing, for example saying I'm fine, don't worry, I will beat the light out of little Johnny boy's eyes. You got that? If you even make a noise that indicates either of your well beings I will get my little monkeys to do some serious work on Johnny! So chat away my darlings!'_

_John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Trust Moriarty to come up with something as evil and disgusting as this. The only redeeming factor of this, for John, is that Sherlock didn't get touched. _

_'Oh and just one more thing, if you don't talk at all, John gets a beating. I'm just so devious!' Jim's voice boomed over the tannoy._

_'Damn it!' John shouted angrily._

_'Just calm down will you?!' Sherlock shouted back._

_Jim chipped in again, 'tut tut Sherlock, now do I count that as breaking the rules?'_

_'No, no! Please don't,' Sherlock said with desperation in his voice, a desperation John had never heard from him._

_'Oh and now begging too? What are we going to do with you, Sherlock? You've gone soft. Right boys off you go, but don't kill him.'_

_John saw two huge figures clad in black holding a baseball bat each. Their looming bodies were overwhelming and intimidating and John couldn't help but shake a little. As they got closer John heard Jim's voice once again._

_'Now this won't hurt Johnny! ...Much anyway.'_

_These people were skilling for one thing. They beat him hard enough for it to really hurt but they didn't send him into unconsciousness nor did they do any vital damage. The bats struck his legs, arms, ribs and one particularly painful blow to the kneecap. John was aware that he had many bruises on his face and a large black eye from the punches also thrown. He was in so much pain that he barely registered hearing Sherlock's voice arguing with Moriarty and trying to discover his motive (and when he was going to stop). Throughout his punishment, John had tried to stay silent, and managed it relatively well, but he couldn't help but let out a few quiet groans of pain which he wasn't all too sure if Sherlock could hear._

_'Yes, I could hear.'_

_'What?'_

_'You, groaning. I could hear you.'_

_'How the hell can you deduce that through a bloody wall?'_

_'Never mind. So, how was your day yesterday?'_

_'Beats this one. And yours?'_

_'Okay, I did some experiments. Successfully worked out what poison had been used to kill Miss Keely in our case.'_

_Already this chit-chat was driving John crazy. How were they supposed to talk about menial things when they were both in such danger? The answer was, of course, because the longer they kept it up, the less immediate danger they were in._

_'How's work at the surgery going?' John heard Sherlock's voice drift through the wall._

_'Okay,' John replied, 'except I still can't look Sarah straight in the eye after what happened on our first date.'_

_'Oh yeah. I never really said sorry for that, did I?'_

_'I never really expected you to mate.'_

_Sherlock went quiet for a moment and John suspected that was the end of the conversation when quietly, _

_'Well I am, sorry I mean. I knew how much you liked her.'_

_'Well, well, well,' Moriarty's voice sounded out, 'getting sentimental are we? How touching. And you say you don't have a heart.'_

_'Piss off Jim, we're going to get out of this, don't worry J-' Sherlock froze as he realised what he'd done and then cried out in anger, 'for Christ's sake, damn it!'_

_'Well I'd best get my boys. Let's have a change of instrument this time, shall we? Brace yourself Johnny.'_

_John started to wonder what the weapon was, the bats were bad enough, but with Jim it really could be anything. His questions were answered all too soon when one of the men from before came back carrying a long, black whip. The brute untied John and gestured for him to stand up, which John did silently. The henchman then turned the chair around, pushed John over the back of it and tied him there. He took a small knife out of his pocket, though John couldn't seen it, and slashed John's shirt up the middle of the back and opened it so his whole back was exposed._

_'Would you like to tell Sherlock what the tool is John?'_

_'No, don't tell him now, he'll see later anyway no point ruining the fun,' John replied, feeling sick at his own masochistic comment and mind set._

_'Very true John! Right go on then, time to start!'_

_The henchman brought the whip down on John's back with all his might and, despite how much it hurt, John didn't make a sound. Instead, he focused on counting the lashes to his back. He'd just reached fifty when he heard,_

_'Right, you can stop now, don't want him dead.'_

_John gave a sigh of relief as the henchman untied him and then retied him when he was sat back on the chair properly. John was even happier when, as the figure walked out of the room, he saw a door down the corridor directly opposite him with sunlight streaming through the small window. _

_'What was it?' Sherlock asked._

_'I'm not telling you, Sherlock,' John replied._

_'But he turned off the communication so I have no way of even deducing what it was.'_

_'Good.' After a moment's thought John spoke again, 'why is this happening?'_

_John had intended to ask Sherlock but it was Jim who replied,_

_'Well, Johnny, firstly for a bit of fun but mainly because I told Sherlock I'd burn the heart out of him and this is the beginning of that lengthy process. This here, my dear, is just an example of what I can do and it's a reminder to Sherlock that he can't always save you. There'll be many other times when he can't.'_

_John felt sick at the idea of Jim doing this for fun but his spirits were lightened as he gathered that Jim was implying that they'd get out of here alive._

_He wasn't such how much time had passed but he could guess that it had been about 3 hours, if not longer. In that time he had been beaten another two times, slashed repeatedly with a butcher's knife and whipped again, just for good measure. Unbelievably, Jim's voice came on the tannoy again and said,_

_'You can go now, the doors are unlocked and your mobiles are in a box between the rooms. But don't bother looking for me, I'll be long gone.'_

_A henchman came into the room, a different one from before, and untied John and left the room, leaving the door unlocked behind him. John stood and felt the world rush to meet his face as he wobbled and then fell. He groaned in pain and scrambled to his feet again, feeling dizzy all the while. He'd barely taken two steps when he saw Sherlock appear in the doorway looking a bit pale with a small cut on his head but, other than that, completely fine. John breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Sherlock, however, was far from happy._

_'Hey Sherlock,' John said with another small smile._

_'Hey? Don't hey me! Look at you! Sit back on that chair, I've called Lestrade and we're waiting until he and an ambulance arrive.'_

_Knowing he was too weak to protest and also because he had lost so much blood Sherlock wouldn't listen to him anyway, he went back to the chair with Sherlock helping him and sat down._

_'The weapon, it was a whip,' Sherlock stated rather than asked. All John could do was grunt in reply, 'but there are other wounds too, what were they from?'_

_'Don't need to know,' John said quietly_

_'Yes I do. I need to tell the paramedics.'_

_'I can tell them.'_

_'Just tell me John!' Sherlock all but shouted_

_'Fine. Baseball bats and butcher's knives. Happy now?'_

_'Quite the opposite. I feel terrible.'_

_John fell into unconsciousness and when he woke up he was in a sterile white room with a beeping machine next to him._

_'I made it to hospital then,' he thought, once again startled by the thoughts that entered his head._

_The silence was disrupted by Sherlock's voice, 'oh good, you're awake.'_

_John turned to look at him, 'you look awful mate.' He was paler than usual, had dark circles under his eyes which were slightly bloodshot, his hair was all over the place and he had stitches on his forehead._

_'Yes because you look so pristine.'_

_He laughed, 'I'm fine, honestly.'_

_'Fine?! You were cut to bloody shreds! Not to mention all the other injuries which, by the way, you passed out from. You also suffered all of this in silence which, to let you know, I am furious you did.' _

_'I just didn't want you worrying. It's not that bad. Hey, you didn't tell Lestrade what happened to me did you?'_

_'Not that ba- oh whatever! I didn't really know until just now because of __**someone **__but no, I won't tell him if you don't want.'_

_'Okay thanks.'_

_'Oh I was thinking-'_

_'When are you not?'_

_'True. But I was thinking that, god forbid, this ever happen again, we should have a code word that means we're okay and alive.'_

_'Okay good plan. Like what?'_

_'How about, consequential conspiracies?'_

_'How are you supposed to get that in?'_

_'Like saying; you know after all this, there might be some consequential conspiracies about.'_

_He laughed. 'Okay fine, we'll use that.'_

John looked down at the paper he was holding again and couldn't believe what it said,

'Consequential conspiracies –SH.'


End file.
